Five Times Arthur Loved Martin
by Charlotte K
Summary: And one time Martin loved him back.
1. Edmonton

Arthur Shappey is completely, thoroughly soaked. The rainstorm outside picked up quicker than he expected, and by the time he, Douglas, and Martin got to the Edmonton International Airport, the three of them were absolutely drenched. Despite this, Arthur doesn't really mind. Seeing hundreds of other people soaked and frustrated reminds him that he's not the only one in an unpleasant situation. And hey- it's not like they got caught in a blizzard, right? There's something about being in Canada that Arthur really enjoys. It isn't often that they go to Canada, and the last time they had been here, it was to Toronto and Nunavut. He had never seen Alberta before, but so far, he likes it. He'd probably like it even more if the sun was shining, he thinks.

"Chaps?" Arthur asks, as he follows behind Douglas and Martin through the thick crowds of people. "Should we phone Mum _before_ or _after_ we find a hotel? Because I was thinking, if we phoned her before we found one, she'd be really upset. But if we phone her after we find a hotel, she'll still be upset, but she can't do very much about it. Which do you think we should-"

"We'll not worry about that now," Douglas replies through gritted teeth. Arthur frowns.

"But we've got to tell Mum sometime."

"Yes, Arthur, but let's think about actually _finding_ a place to stay first."

Arthur doesn't know what to say to that.

He looks over at Martin, who hasn't said a word since they made the emergency diversion to Edmonton. His fiery hair is plastered to his face, and it still drips a little as he walks. He looks so cold, Arthur notices, and he sort of reminds Arthur of a kitten that slipped on the edge of the tub and fell into the bath. He looks...sad. It doesn't help that he's probably the one who has to phone Mum, too. Martin always has to phone her when things go wrong. Arthur huffs, slightly frustrated. He finds it unfair that Douglas never has to deal with the problems; it's always thrown at Martin, Martin, _Martin_.

If anyone asked Arthur how it truly made him feel, he would say it angered him. And Arthur is never easily angered.

"Skip, are you alright? You look a little-"

"Wet?" Martin finishes sarcastically. He closes his eyes, and exhales a deep breath through his nose. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he says quietly. "I'm just a little cold. And I'm completely stupid for leaving my hat on board Gerti."

"Don't kick yourself for it, Skip. At least the rain didn't ruin your favourite hat, right?"

"Hmm."

"Arthur," Douglas cuts in. "I think it's time you closed your mouth, and kept it that way."

* * *

Arthur closes the door behind him, and gently throws his duffel bag across the room with an underhand pitch. It lands on the floor next to the double bed, but Martin doesn't say anything. When they got to the hotel, Douglas and Martin had a not-so-secret game of Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who would have to share with Arthur, but Arthur's relieved that Martin lost. This isn't the first time they've had to share a room, and to be honest, Arthur doesn't mind at all. It means that he can spend more time with his Skip, and the thought of it sends a little tingle down his spine. He's known for a while that he has feelings for Martin. The thought of being attracted to another man used to scare him, but it wasn't long before Arthur realized it was an emotional (as well as physical) attraction, and to him, that's the best kind.

And now, he finds he's starting to fall in love.

He watches Martin hang up his jacket and step out of his shoes. He looks so tired, and Arthur can't help but want to wrap him up in a tight, proper hug and tell him that everything will be okay. Martin peels off his socks, and pads along the carpet floor and sets his bag down next to Arthur's.

"I think it's time for a shower," Martin says, rubbing the back of his neck slowly. "A nice, hot one."

"Good idea, Skip. You'll definitely feel better after that!"

Martin gives Arthur a tired smile. It makes Arthur feel warm inside.

When Martin closes the bathroom door behind him and starts the shower, Arthur unzips Martin's bag and searches for his pajamas. When he finds them, he pulls them out, closes the bag again, and lays them out neatly on the right side of the bed: Martin's side. He wants Martin to feel warm and comfortable, and Arthur used to love it when Mum would lay out his pajamas when he was a kid. And then there's the fact that he's doing this for Martin. _His_ Martin.

When Martin comes out ten minutes later, Arthur has already laid out his pajamas, pulled the covers back on the bed, and set his toothbrush on the night table. The sight of Martin in nothing but a towel causes Arthur's face to heat up. He hopes he isn't blushing too hard.

"Arthur!" Martin sighs, a wide smile forming on his face. "Thank you. I, um... I really, really appreciate that." He takes the pajamas, and unwraps the towel around his hips. Arthur turns around quickly and puts his hands over his eyes.

"Not looking!"

Martin chuckles.

"It's okay, you can turn around now," he says after a moment. "But seriously Arthur, thank you so much." Arthur steps hesitantly towards Martin, and to his surprise, Martin doesn't seem alarmed when Arthur wraps his arms around his hips.

"No problem, Skip. Afterall, you are my friend," Arthur says.

_And I love you,_ he wishes he could say.


	2. Madrid

Arthur loves the little things about Martin: the way he smiles, his laugh, his voice, the way his ginger hair curls and bounces when it starts getting too long... And more than once, he catches himself daydreaming. The best thing, Arthur thinks, is being able to notice these things about Martin all the time. It seems like he finds one more thing to love about Martin every time he sees him; be it the way he steeples his fingers together when he thinks, his excitement over landing on time, or even the way he holds his pen when he writes in his logbook.

_It's silly_, part of him says. And maybe it is. Maybe he's like a teenager in love, or like thinking he and Martin are soul mates because they both eat pasta or they both flinch when something comes flying at their face. And what if Martin doesn't actually feel the same way? But another part of him disagrees. There's just so much of him that Arthur wants to love, and so much that he wants to learn. To him, Martin is more than brilliant. He's beautiful.

And lately, he's been showing signs of interest. The thought makes Arthur smile. He starts to imagine taking Martin by the hand, lacing their fingers together and giving a tight squeeze. He wants to sift his fingers through that soft orange hair, and a warm feeling runs from his chest to the pit of his stomach when he imagines the feeling of kissing Martin's soft, full lips. He'd kiss him slowly at first, and cup the side of his face gently. Maybe the kiss would deepen, and he'd nibble on Martin's lower lip. Martin would moan quietly, and...

The intercom buzzes. Arthur's eyes snap open, as he flinches at the sudden noise. All at once, he realizes that he's in the galley on a flight to Madrid, and much to his disappointment, not in Martin's arms.

"Need anything?"

"Arthur, could you make us some coffee, please?" Martin asks. Arthur bites his lip. _And then snog me senseless?_ He chuckles at the thought of Martin ever saying that.

"Right-o!" he replies quickly, switching off the intercom and starting up the coffee maker.

Before he opens the flight deck door, he stops for a second. His heart is suddenly racing in his chest, but there shouldn't be any reason for that, should there? _I've given Martin his coffee lots of times before. Why is this time so different?_

He walks into the flight deck, and his heart almost stops when Martin looks up at him and smiles.

"Ah, thank you, Arthur," Douglas says as he reaches out for his cup, not bothering to turn around.

"Yes, thank you!" Martin beams. "I needed this."

"Y-you're welcome," Arthur stammers, but mostly to Martin. "Um, is there anything else you two might like?"

"Not now, no," Douglas answers with a yawn.

"Well, actually," Martin says. "We just started a word game. You should stay and play with us!"

* * *

This hotel happens to be the worst one they've ever stayed in, Arthur decides. When they got there, he tried really hard to find at least something brilliant about it, but to no avail. It's hard to find something good when the whole building smells like fish, half the staff are rude and the other half don't speak English, and the fan in the room is broken and might as well just be a decoration. Well, there is one good thing about the hotel: Arthur is sharing with Martin again. And there wasn't even a Rock-Paper-Scissors duel to decide that.

"Martin," Arthur says, as he hangs upside-down off the side of the double bed. "Why does Mum always pick the worst hotels?"

"Because it's cheap," Martin replies simply.

"I know she always goes for the cheap ones, but I'm sure there are lots of hotels out there that are nice and don't smell like fish, and aren't expensive."

"I'm sure there are," Martin says. "You know, it really does smell like fish in here, doesn't it."

"It definitely does!" Arthur exclaims. "I wonder what kind."

"Well, maybe we could... could go for a walk. Or something. You don't have to, but it's up to you."

"That sounds brilliant, Skip!"

"Yes? Okay, great!"

Arthur can't stop smiling. He's going out for a nice walk in sunny Madrid with Martin Crieff, and it'll be just the two of them, and- oh.

_Oh._

"What about Douglas?" Arthur asks.

"I think he went to see a 'friend of his'. Besides, it'll be nice just us two."

Arthur can barely control the butterflies in his stomach.

* * *

The afternoon is busy, and the street is bustling with cars and people, but Arthur is fine with it. He likes to watch the people as he and Martin walk, and he wonders what their names are, where they're going, and how many of them might be pilots or flight attendants. The sidewalk becomes crowded, and people brush past them, sometimes accidentally bumping them around, but it doesn't bother Arthur. He assumes that Martin doesn't mind either, because he hasn't complained yet. In fact, he hasn't said a word.

He doesn't think Martin minds, until he actually looks at him. He looks around him warily, with his arms tucked close to him, and his eyebrows furrowed. Arthur notices that his breathing is a little erratic, too. That's when it clicks. The crowds, the heat, the sounds and smells, being bumped around by everyone; Martin hasn't said a word because he's _panicking. _

Suddenly, Arthur feels bad for not paying attention.

"Skip? Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

Martin nods quickly. "Why did I suggest going for a walk?" He groans.

"Well, walks are nice. Just sometimes, things get a little crowded, or else it gets really hot, or-"

"Yes, Arthur. I know."

"I'm sorry."

And just like that, Arthur feels Martin's hand squeezing around his wrist tightly. His heartbeat picks up speed, and it feels like a bolt of electricity runs through his arm at Martin's touch.

"Skip!"

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so- I just-"

"No, it's okay. You just surprised me. Here," Arthur replies calmly. When Martin lets go of his wrist, Arthur takes his hand, and laces their fingers together. He gives Martin's hand a firm squeeze, letting him know that it's okay now, that he doesn't need to feel anxious any more. That he cares about him.

"Feel better?" Arthur asks.

The look of relief on Martin's face tells Arthur everything he needs to know.


	3. Montréal

Arthur is pretty good at mucking things up.

But then again, so is Martin.

And for Arthur, this has been one hell of a trip. It started off wonderfully, as most of their trips do, but it all went downhill within the first half hour. He knew he shouldn't have been so quick to serve them that leftover whiskey. He supposes he should have known from the first insult hurled at him how the rest of the flight from Fitton to Montréal would go, but for the past few hours, he's been trying his hardest to stay optimistic. It's hard to keep smiling, though, when all sixteen passengers insist on making ridiculous demands (Arthur, fetch us all some strawberry PopTarts! Arthur, you've toasted this wrong- it's supposed to be golden brown, not completely brown! What? You've never heard of PopTarts? How dumb are you?!), and throwing around insults like it's nothing (Hey, idiot in the hat! You've given me the wrong coffee, you clot! You're as clumsy as that stupid pilot you've got.).

Arthur is nearly in tears when he bursts into the flight deck.

"Arthur! What's wrong?"

"Can't you hear them, Skip? The passengers. They're being a bunch of-"

"Well, I could hear the gist of what's going on," Douglas interrupts. "They seem like a rowdy bunch, don't they? Not what I would have expected of a group of businesspeople on their way to a conference."

"Well, they're just," Arthur pauses, as he looks for the least offensive word he can think of. "They're just awful!"

"What are they doing to you?" Martin asks. Arthur can read the concern in his Captain's face, and it comforts him a little.

"They're making all sorts of crazy requests, like strawberry PopTarts when I've never even had a PopTart in my life, and then when I try to do something for one of them, but do it wrong, they all start yelling at me. And calling me stupid and clumsy and things like that."

Martin and Douglas trade worried glances, and that's when Martin stands up from his seat.

"I think they need a word from their Captain," he says, crossing his arms. Douglas opens his mouth to speak.

"I don't know, Skip," Arthur replies before Douglas has a chance to say anything. "I don't want them to be mean to you, too."

"But I'm the _Captain_. And nobody can get away with being rude to their steward. And nobody, and I mean _nobody_ can get away with being rude to you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur notices as Douglas throws an amused face at Martin's back.

Arthur follows Martin into the cabin, unsure if Martin's idea will actually work. Martin gets everybody's attention, and Arthur holds his breath.

"Oi, it's the pilot with a message from God!" One woman near the back of the plane jeers.

"Aye, whataya got for us, Cap?" shouts the man sitting across from her.

Martin clears his throat, and puffs out his chest a little. "It's, ah, it's come to my attention that some of you have been bothering the steward," he says with bravado that Arthur knows is false. The trembling hands held behind Martin's back give it away. Arthur wishes he could reach behind Martin and calm those hands with his own, but he won't dare try it in front of the passengers. Not these ones, that's for sure.

"Bothering?" someone asks with a snort.

"Yes," Martin replies. "You know, making silly demands, insulting him-"

The woman from the back of the plane stands up. "Silly demands? You probably didn't even hear a word any of us said! They're not silly. They're perfectly legitimate things to ask of the steward!"

"Oh yes," Martin replies sarcastically. "Because telling Arthur to get you all strawberry PopTarts when you know there are none on the plane is perfectly reasonable!"

"Skip," Arthur warns.

The woman stomps toward Martin, and puts her hands on her hips. She almost towers over him in her dangerously high heels, and she points a finger at his chest.

"I don't know what kind of Captain you say you are, but if one thing's for certain, it's that you do _not_ just come from your little flight deck in your stiff suit and stupid hat and tell us what to do! I think your little boyfriend here can handle his own problems without getting you involved." She wrinkles her nose and sneers at the "boyfriend" part. And with an icy glare to both Martin and Arthur, she storms back to her seat, and plops down. Suddenly, Arthur is reminded of that awful Mr. Lehman from their trip to Boston.

He spends the next hour sitting at a table in the galley, trying his best not to cry. But at the same time, he's thankful for Martin's efforts. The ache in his chest, the ache that makes him feel like his heart's made of lead, still hasn't gone away. He wonders if Martin's heart feels heavy, too. And that woman that yelled at Martin- she called Arthur his boyfriend. Arthur's face burned when she said it, but not because he was embarrassed. He was angry. He's still angry. What would it matter if he did happen to be Martin's boyfriend? Calling him that should not be meant as an insult, that's for sure.

Martin enters the galley, shuts the door behind him quietly, and wedges a chair under the door handle. Arthur stands up to meet him.

"I, um, I came to see if you were okay," Martin says softly.

"I was just about to go to the flight deck to check on you, actually," Arthur replies. The tiniest flicker of a smile flashes across Martin's face, but disappears as soon as it starts.

"Well, are you okay, though?"

"I think so," Arthur says with a sigh. "It's not the first time we've had rude passengers. You remember Mr. Lehman. And Nancy Dean-Leapheart. And-"

"Yes, I remember them."

Silence hangs heavy in the air.

"Arthur, I just want to say I'm sorry," Martin says, hanging his head. "I tried to help, I really did, but it just backfired."

"I'm not upset with you, Skip," Arthur replies. "I actually wanted to say thank you for... for trying. I never could have stood up to them by myself."

Martin looks up at him, a mix of dejection and guilt etched into his face. It's a look that Arthur never wants to see again. It breaks his heart.

"She called you my boyfriend," Martin says.

"I know. I hope you weren't offended by that."

"Oh, I wasn't. Not at all. I mean, it shouldn't matter if you really were my boyfriend, anyhow. And if you were, then she really didn't have the right to use that as a sting against us. If anything, I'm offended because she assumed that we _weren't_ in a relationship, and then made that little comment."

Arthur leans in close to Martin, and wraps his arms around his waist. Martin hugs back tightly, and buries his face into Arthur's shoulder. His breath is hot on Arthur's skin, and for a moment, Arthur wonders if he should plant a kiss on Martin's cheek. Without really thinking about it, he does. Martin sighs deeply, and hugs even tighter.

"She's an awful woman," Arthur mutters into Martin's hair. "But it wasn't your fault."

"I feel like it is."

"Well, it's not. And for the record, I'd rather enjoy being your boyfriend."

The corners of Martin's lips curve into a faint smile.

"I'd enjoy having you as a boyfriend," he says in a half-whisper.

Arthur stares into Martin's face for a moment. The sadness has mostly faded away, and he finds himself leaning in close again. Slowly, Martin lifts his chin, and Arthur finds himself cupping the side of Martin's face in his hand.

_Oh my God, we're actually going to kiss_, he thinks, as their lips barely brush.

The intercom sounds. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, and Martin groans.

"Everything alright back there?" Douglas asks.

"Yes, Arthur's fine," Martin replies. "It's all fine." Arthur can hear the disappointment in the other man's voice. "I'll come back to the flight deck now."

Martin dislodges the chair from under the door handle, and before he opens the door, Arthur catches him gently, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. Martin reaches out and squeezes his hand, and walks out.

"I love you," Arthur whispers after him.

He doesn't think Martin heard.


	4. Harstad

This has to be the coldest hotel Arthur's ever been to.

This trip, he has learned two things about Norway: it's brilliant, and when it's hit by a sudden spring snowstorm, it's _cold_. And to make things worse, the heater in the room died three hours ago.

Arthur pulls the blanket over his shoulder and turns on his side to face Martin. He sighs quietly as he watches the single bed across from him, wishing that this could have been a double room instead. A shiver works its way through his body, but he stays curled up in a tight ball, not willing to let any heat escape from the covers. He wonders how Martin can sleep in such a cold room, but then pictures Martin's tiny attic flat in his head. A brief sadness settles in his chest when Arthur realizes that he's probably used to it.

Arthur glances up at the little clock on the night table beside him, but gives up trying to see what time it is after he squints so hard his eyes water. With a huff, he rolls on his back, closes his eyes, and watches the little colourful flashes that flit and dash in the darkness. For a moment, it distracts him from the chill of the room, and it isn't long before he feels himself slowly, finally, drifting off.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's leg gives a violent jerk, and his eyes snap open.

"Mhmm?"

"I've woken you up! I'm so sorry!"

"Nah, I wasn't really sleeping," Arthur replies with a yawn. "Are you cold too?"

Arthur hears Martin shift and turn over.

"I'm freezing."

"This hotel is nice, but it's just-"

"Cold. I know. I wonder if our room's the only one with a broken heater."

"I couldn't tell you, Skip."

They lay there in silence for a few moments. Arthur isn't really sure what to say next. _Come sleep in my bed_ sits in the back of his mind, but maybe Martin's too cold to move, too.

"I um, I wish we had a double room," Martin says, as if he was reading Arthur's thoughts.

"Me too."

Martin takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. Arthur takes this as the right time to ask.

"Um, Martin? Do you want to come sleep in my bed, if you're cold? Or I could come to yours, it's up to you."

"I was waiting for you to ask," Martin replies. Arthur can almost hear the smile in his voice.

He sits up and scoots over to the cold side of the bed as he hears Martin step across the soft, carpet floor. The mattress dips when Martin sits down, and the sheets and blanket tug a little as he settles in.

"Have you got the blanket on?" Arthur asks.

"Mmm, yes," Martin hums. "Your bed is much warmer than mine."

Arthur smiles at that. He nestles in beside Martin, and wraps an arm protectively over the smaller man's chest.

"I hope you're okay with that," he whispers.

"I'm more than okay with it."

He holds Martin a little tighter, and gently brushes his lips over a freckled cheekbone. Martin shivers.

"You know, Arthur," he says softly, turning on his side. "I think I'd be okay with a bit more, if you know what I mean."

Arthur chuckles quietly. "Of course I do." With that, he snakes his arms around Martin's waist and presses his chest against Martin's shoulder blades. "Like this?"

"Mmm, yes."

Arthur presses a kiss into Martin's hair. "And this?"

"Very much."

They lie quietly for a while, with the occasional relaxed sigh from either of them. Arthur thinks their sighs harmonize a bit, and it makes him grin.

"Arthur, are you still awake?"

"Hmm, yeah..."

"You're amazing, do you know that?"

"Thank you, Skip."

"I mean it, though. You're just..." Martin yawns. "brilliant."

Arthur gives him a gentle squeeze. They're silent for a long time after that.

It isn't long before Arthur starts drifting in and out of light sleep and fluffy dreams, and each time he wakes up, he's surprised, and then relieved, to know that Martin is here with him. Right here in his arms.

It feels so _right_.

When Arthur wakes up again, the shadows of the leaves on the tree outside the window dance in the patch of sunlight on the wall. Martin is still asleep.

"Love you," Arthur whispers into the nape of Martin's neck.

Martin gives a content little snore in reply.


	5. Fitton

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is First Officer Douglas Richardson. We are now flying over Paris, which means we'll be landing in about an hour. In the meantime, do feel free to take pictures out the window, or whatever it is you passengers like to do, or go bother the steward. Thank you."

A quiet collective giggle falls over the cabin, as the passengers on board return to what they were doing before the cabin address. Arthur likes these passengers. There are twelve of them. They're kind, with proper manners, and they're on their way back from some scrapbooking convention in Marseille. They're not shouty and rude like the passengers from the Montreal trip, and they treat Arthur like a person; something he thinks a lot of other passengers forget to do. So far, he's gotten along with all of them, and nobody has made any ridiculous requests. And these ones even found the cabin address kind of funny.

Douglas has done all the cabin addresses this trip, Arthur realizes. Martin's been rather quiet. He hasn't even asked for coffee yet, and the flight is nearly over. He wonders for a moment if Martin is okay, but he shakes it out of his head when an old woman rings their service bell and smiles politely for him.

"Good evening, Madam. Can myself be of any assistance to yourself?"

"Well, actually," the woman starts, as she reaches into her bag and pulls out a small envelope. "I'm just a bit bored, and you're a very friendly young man. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to look at some pictures with me."

"That sounds great!" Arthur exclaims, as he sits down in the empty seat next to her. He glances around at the other passengers quickly, to make sure nobody else needs him. The other passengers don't seem to mind.

"This picture here is of my grandson," the woman says, pulling a photo out of her envelope. A little boy is sitting on top of a big dirt pile, smiling happily as he holds an earthworm between his thumb and finger. His cheeks and forehead are streaked with dirt, and the look of pride on the boy's face makes Arthur grin. It reminds him of himself, when he was little.

"What's his name?" He asks.

A twinkle flashes in the woman's eye. "Martin. Martin Percy Robinson."

Arthur can't stop the laugh that jumps out of his chest. The woman looks up at him.

"It's just that I really like that name," Arthur says. "My best friend. His name is Martin, too!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes! He's the Captain, actually-"

He hears the intercom in the galley, and Douglas says something that Arthur can't hear.

"One moment," he says politely, standing up. He races to the galley, and turns the intercom back on.

"What did you need, Douglas? Sorry, I was in the cabin."

"Nice of you to get back to me," Douglas replies. "And I didn't need anything. It's Martin."

Arthur frowns. "What about him? Is he alright? You know, he hasn't said a thing for the entire flight."

"Well, he's been asleep for the better part of the trip. Mentioned something about having a headache, and then he started to look pale, and just dozed off. Lucky for me, I'm qualified to fly this beast myself, but I think you'd better make him some tea or something, before he completely wilts."

Arthur shifts from one foot to the other, starting to feel slightly nervous.

"Is he awake now?"

"He is," Douglas replies. "Sort of. He's a little shaky. Probably just the start of a nasty cold. But do hurry with the tea, please."

Arthur clicks off the intercom, and searches through the cupboards for the box of lemon tea bags. Now he knows why Martin's been so quiet. He's not sure if that makes him feel any better, though. He finds the yellow box on one of the top shelves, but it feels empty. He's about to scold himself for not restocking the tea, when he opens the box to find one last tea bag in the bottom. _Thank God_, he thinks. He can't help but feel worried as he prepares Martin's tea. The only places Arthur knows Martin could have picked up such a bug are the hotel and the airport in Marseille, both of which were crowded and busy when they had arrived. Arthur guesses he must have picked it up in the airport. Another part of him is sad that Martin had to start feeling sick while he was flying. He can only imagine how anxious Martin must have been before he fell asleep.

He finishes with the tea, and carefully, he makes his way through the cabin. With a gentle knock, he enters the flight deck.

"I've got the tea," he says to Douglas. Douglas nods toward Martin.

"Give it to Martin, then."

Douglas was right: Martin does look rather pale. The dark circles under his eyes remind Arthur of smudged eyeliner. _God, he looks so tired_.

"Thank you, Arthur," Martin says softly. He takes his tea with a wavering hand.

"What's wrong, Skip?"

Martin groans quietly. "I was fine when we landed here yesterday, but last night, I was exhausted. When I woke up, I had a bit of a headache, but then it got worse, and now I've got a pain right in here." He rubs across his forehead, and closes his eyes. Arthur knows what that means. It's a sinus headache; he had just gotten over one about a week ago himself.

"Well, drink your tea, and we're landing soon," Arthur says as reassuring as he can. Martin smiles weakly, and takes a sip.

* * *

The landing was uneventful, thanks to Douglas. Arthur knows Martin could have done a brilliant job too, but in this case, he supposes it was best for Douglas to have control.

"Thank you for flying MJN Air," he says automatically to each passenger as they brush past him with their luggage and leave the plane. He knows he should sound more sincere, but now, he just wants to find Martin and make sure he's okay. Once he's helped the last few passengers off the plane, he locks up Gerti and looks around the airfield for Martin.

He finds him in the car park, leaning against his van.

"You're not driving home," Douglas says with crossed arms.

"I'll be okay," Martin protests.

"No, you're not. You're-"

Martin interrupts with a yawn.

"See?" Douglas says. "You're feeling sick. You can't drive."

"But I don't have-" Martin sounds a bit tense.

They both turn to look at Arthur when he approaches.

"Arthur," Douglas says. "If Martin's sick, do you think it would be safe for him to drive home? _With his van_?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Not really," he replies. Slowly, an idea creeps into his thoughts. "But of course, I could give you a ride home, Skip. And I'll pick you up in the morning so you can get your van. Would that be okay?"

Martin visibly relaxes. Arthur takes out his mobile and shoots a quick text to his Mum to let her know where he's going.

* * *

When they pull up to the shared house, Arthur turns off the car.

"Do you have someone to look after you, Martin?" he asks.

Martin shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to bother anybody," he says.

"I could look after you. I wouldn't mind."

"Um, are you sure?"

"Of course I am. I care about you very much, you know." He reaches up and brushes a stray curl away from Martin's forehead. He feels too warm. "I think you're running a fever," Arthur notes. "Please let me take care of you."

Martin agrees.

Arthur's been over to Martin's place once before, but that was to drop off his mobile phone when he found it on the plane. It was more casual then, even when he had consoled Martin over his bad day. Arthur liked him then, but he didn't feel as strongly as he does now. And this time, things seem different. The air feels thicker than it probably should, and an almost electric tingle starts to crawl over Arthur's skin. Here they are, alone in Martin's bedroom. It could be the perfect opportunity to reach out and wrap his arms around him, lift his chin, and give him a right, proper kiss. It would be so simple.

But Martin is sick, and needs to lie down and rest.

"Maybe you should have a nice shower, Skip. That always helps me when I don't feel good," Arthur says, pretending he wasn't just considering taking Martin by surprise and kissing him senseless. "And while you're in the shower, I'll get your bed all ready, and make you some soup."

Martin doesn't argue. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck and yawns. He takes his pajamas and a towel to the bathroom, and shuts the door. When Arthur hears the shower running, he heads downstairs to the kitchen, and searches for a can of something Martin might like. He knows that the kitchen belongs to the students, but it's not like Martin would have anything good in the little pantry in his attic. It takes him a few minutes, but he finds a can of chicken soup and a bowl, and after he heats up the soup in the microwave, he takes it carefully up the stairs, making sure he doesn't spill any of it.

He sits the bowl of soup on Martin's night table, and puts a spoon into the steaming broth. It smells delicious for canned soup, and he's sure Martin will enjoy it. He walks over to Martin's bed, and pulls the sheet and covers back, just like he had done when they had shared the hotel room in Edmonton. He looks around for something for Martin to cuddle with, but he frowns when he doesn't find any stuffed toy or anything anywhere. Everyone keeps at least _one_ stuffed toy when they grow up, don't they?

Arthur wonders what he should do about it, when he hears the shower turn off, and the sounds of Martin drying off and stepping into his pajama bottoms. He emerges from the bathroom looking a little better than when he went in. Arthur's relieved to find that some of the colour has returned to Martin's face, and now, he looks more relaxed.

"I made you soup," Arthur says, pointing at the bowl on the night table.

Martin smiles. "Thank you, Arthur. I mean it. You really don't have to look after me, but I appreciate you."

Before Arthur realizes it, Martin's wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist, and has buried his face into his shoulder. Arthur reaches up to run his fingers through Martin's damp hair, and turns his head to brush a light kiss to Martin's temple. The satisfied sigh he hears from Martin warms the inside of his chest.

They stand there and let time pass, and eventually, the embrace grows tighter, warmer... Martin looks up at Arthur with tired eyes, and blinks slowly.

"Come lay down with me," he mumbles, as he lets his head drop back on Arthur's shoulder.

"Eat your soup first," Arthur replies. "It'll help you feel better."

When Martin finishes his soup and puts the bowl back on the night table, he moves over to the edge of the bed, lifts the covers, and looks at Arthur expectantly. Arthur smiles, unable to refuse someone as lovely and adorable as Martin. It's a bit awkward at first, as the bed is a lot smaller than Arthur thought. They shift positions and pull at the blankets until they're both covered, and laying on their sides, facing each other.

"Promise you'll be here when I wake up?" Martin asks.

Arthur gives Martin a warm kiss to his forehead. "I promise."


	6. London

They've been waiting for what feels like ages. Martin leans back in his chair, pushing his luck more and more each time, just to see how far he can go before he feels himself tip over. Douglas has taken to drumming out different rhythms on the table in the portacabin, but Martin is much too bored to feel annoyed. Mr. Alyacen was supposed to phone two hours ago, but now Martin is starting to wonder if the man will phone at all. And another thing: Where's Arthur?

"Douglas," he says, trying to fill the silence in the room. "Just curious: is there any place you haven't travelled to yet?"

"Hmm..." Douglas stops tapping his fingers on the table, and puts a hand to his chin. "I suppose I haven't been to Antarctica..."

"Seriously, though!"

"I don't know, Martin. Considering I've been a pilot for over thirty years, I've been nearly everywhere. Why do you ask?"

"I said I was just curious."

There's a silence.

"Well," Douglas says. "I haven't been to Bashtanka yet, I suppose."

"To _where_?"

"Bashtanka. It's a small city in the Ukraine. About thirteen thousand people. A friend of mine lives there, actually."

"Why am I not surprised..."

There's another silence. Douglas taps out what Martin is pretty sure is "That's Amore" on the tabletop, but stops after a moment or two.

"What about you?" he asks. "Is there anywhere you haven't been to yet that you'd like to see?"

Martin leans back in his chair.

At that moment, Arthur bursts into the portacabin, startling Martin. With a yelp, Martin and his chair fall over backwards, and crash to the floor. Douglas explodes into laughter, but Arthur swoops down for Martin, and extends a hand.

"Are you alright, Skip? I didn't mean to scare you!"

Martin smiles as he takes Arthur's hand. _Arthur really is sweet_, he thinks. "I'm fine," he replies, rubbing the back of his head. "Might have a bit of a goose egg, but it's nothing."

Arthur gives him a sympathetic smile in return. Martin wants to kiss that perfect little mouth.

Douglas takes a breath, and shakes his head. He throws out a sarcastic little comment about Martin's graceful ways, but Martin ignores him.

"Arthur," Douglas says once he's settled down. "Is there anywhere you'd like to visit?"

"London," Arthur replies simply.

"No, a place you've never been to before," Douglas replies.

"Yeah, London. I've never been. I mean, I've been there once as a baby, according to Mum, but-"

"You've never been to London?!" Douglas sounds shocked. For a moment, Martin thinks Arthur looks a little hurt.

"N-no," Arthur stammers. "Should I have gone?"

This gives Martin an idea.

* * *

"Twenty questions," Arthur says.

Martin chuckles.

"Nope. I'm keeping this trip a surprise. I'm not telling you where we're going until we actually get there."

The idea of a road trip with Arthur was exciting at first, and now that Martin thinks about it, it could be the perfect opportunity to tell Arthur how he really feels. The thought makes him a bit nervous, if he had to be completely honest, but he knows that Arthur feels the same way. It slowly became obvious to Martin. First, it was the way he would catch Arthur looking at him. Well, not so much _looking_. More like gazing. There was the gazing, and then eventually, Arthur became more protective of him. It wasn't long before Martin began to feel a certain pull towards Arthur, a pull much stronger than admiration. He supposes it started as a little flicker somewhere in the corner of his heart, but it wasn't long before that flicker turned into a glow.

And now, as he fights the urge to pull the van over and kiss Arthur for everything he's worth, Martin realizes that the glow has become a flame. He's fallen in love.

For a moment, he toys with the idea of taking Arthur's hand, and after a short internal argument, he decides to reach out and do it. Arthur's giggle is reassuring. A rush of warmth washes through Martin's body. If he can do this, he knows he can tell Arthur those three words.

They enter Wokingham, and once they reach the street Martin's mother lives at, Arthur starts bouncing in his seat.

"Are we visiting your Mum? Is that the surprise?"

Martin laughs when Arthur squeezes his hand tightly.

"Nope," he replies. "Mum's not home this week. We're just stopping here so I can get my car, and leave my van in the garage."

"Wait... you have a _car_?" Arthur seems surprised.

Martin doesn't realize how much he missed his car until now. He found it easier to take the van everywhere, since it's not entirely possible to pack things around in a little Ford Focus for all of his moving jobs. And if he left the car in Mum's garage, he didn't have to pay for fuel for two vehicles. If anything, Martin chose to drive the van everywhere out of convenience.

"Wow, Martin! Your car's brilliant!"

"Thank you," Martin says. "I um, I got it as a graduation present when I was eighteen. My parents and my aunt and uncle put their money together to get it for me."

"That's great! Was it new when you got it?"

Martin laughs. "Almost. The previous owner had it for about a month, before he got lucky and won a better one in a lottery or something."

"So that makes your car how old?"

Martin thinks about this for a moment. "Well, I was eighteen when I got it. That would have been in 1998. And this is a 1998 model, so that means that my car is about... fifteen years old."

"Wow! And your car is red, and red is a brilliant colour. It's my favourite!"

Martin can't hide the pride that swells up in his chest. He and Arthur get in, and shut the doors almost at the same time. He starts up the car, happy that the fuel tanks is full, and the engine doesn't sputter and fart like the van does. He can't stop the smile that spreads across his face when he shifts into gear and backs out of the driveway, leaving the clunky old van behind.

The M4 isn't as busy as Martin thought it would be. That helps him feel a little better, and the extra courage builds his confidence even more. The one hour drive from Wokingham to London should be very nice, indeed. The nervous feeling has almost faded completely, replaced by a tingle of excitement inside Martin's chest. He has it all planned out in his head: they're going to London, and when they get there, he's going to tell Arthur. He's going to take his hands, look into those soft, gorgeous brown eyes, and _tell_ him.

The thing is, though, Martin isn't sure exactly what to say.

_Arthur, I've wanted to tell you this for a long time, and I hope you feel the same way, but I have very strong feelings for you._ A bit long, Martin thinks. That, and it doesn't exactly get to the point.

_Arthur, you are absolutely amazing, and you mean the world to me. I knew from the moment we met that I was going to fall in love with you, and I have. _True, but Martin decides that it would be better suited as a marriage proposal. And they're not at that point. Yet.

_Arthur, I love you._ A little blunt, perhaps, but it could do.

"Skip, you've been very quiet," Arthur says. "Everything alright?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine! Sorry, Arthur. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Someone special," Martin says.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Arthur blushing.

* * *

"Alright, Arthur. We're getting close to our destination. Only about five minutes to go."

"Brilliant!"

"Trust me, it is. It's one of my favourite cities."

Arthur closes his eyes, and he refuses to open them until the car stops.

When they do stop, they're in front of the London Eye. Martin helps Arthur out of the car, and when Arthur opens his eyes, his jaw drops.

"Skip, this is... we're in..." He squeals. "Oh, Martin!" He throws his arms around Martin's shoulders, and squeezes him tight. "MartinMartinMartin! You're amazing!"

"Not brilliant?" Martin jokes.

"You're so much better than brilliant!" Arthur pulls away, but keeps his hands on Martin's shoulders. The sparks of excitement in his eyes, and the look of absolute joy in Arthur's face makes it easier for Martin to wrap his arms around Arthur's waist, and say it.

"Arthur," he starts. "You are beautiful." The words fall out of his mouth before he has a chance to second-guess himself. He forgets all about what he planned to say earlier, and he lets his mouth take control. "You make me so incredibly, unbelievably happy, and the way you care about me, the way you make me feel... I can't even thank you harder than this. Knowing that I get to spend time with you every day makes coming to work even more worthwhile, and, and..." he takes a breath. "I'm in love with you."

Arthur reaches up and smooths a thumb over Martin's cheekbone. Feeling an extra burst of confidence after completely spilling his heart out for Arthur, Martin stands up on tip-toe, takes the side of Arthur's face in his hand, and presses their lips together in a hungry, dizzying kiss.

A _proper_ kiss.


End file.
